The Undomestic Goddess
Page 125
“There, there,” says Eddie, patting her on the back. He looks rather moist around the eyes himself. Oh, God, now I feel like crying myself.
“I’m really grateful for everything,” I gulp. “And I’m sorry for leaving you in the lurch.”
“We know you’ve made the right decision. It’s not that.” Trish dabs her eyes.
“We’re very proud of you,” chips in Eddie gruffly as the doorbell rings.
I head into the hall, and open the door. The entire PR team from Carter Spink is standing on the doorstep, all in identical trouser suits.
“Samantha.” Hilary Grant, head of PR, runs her eyes over me. “Ready?”
By twelve o’clock I’m wearing a black suit, black tights, black high heels, and the crispest white shirt I’ve ever seen. I’ve been professionally made up and my hair has been scraped back into a bun.
Hilary brought the clothes and the hairdresser and makeup artist. Now we’re in the drawing room while she preps me on what to say to the press. For the thousand millionth time.
“What’s the most important thing to remember?” she’s demanding. “Above anything?”
“Not to mention loos,” I say wearily. “I promise, I won’t.”
“And if they ask about recipes?” She wheels round from where she’s been striding up and down.
“I answer, ‘I’m a lawyer. My only recipe is the recipe for success.’ ” Somehow I manage to utter the words straight-faced.
I’d forgotten how seriously the PR department takes all of this. But I suppose it’s their job. And I suppose this whole business has been a bit of a nightmare for them. Hilary has been outwardly pleasant ever since she got here—but I get the feeling there’s a little wax doll of me on her desk, impaled by drawing pins.
“We just want to make sure you don’t say anything else … unfortunate.” She gives me a slightly savage smile.
“I won’t! I’ll stick to the script.”
“And then the News Today team will follow you back to London.” She consults her BlackBerry. “We’ve given them access for the rest of the day. You’re OK about that?”
“Well … yes. I suppose.”
I cannot believe how big this whole thing has become. A news discussion program actually wants to do a fly-on-the-wall TV documentary section about my return to Carter Spink. Is there nothing else happening in the world?
“Don’t look at the camera.” Hilary is still briskly issuing instructions. “You should be good-humored and positive. You can talk about the career opportunities Carter Spink has given you and how much you’re looking forward to getting back. Don’t mention your salary—”
“Any chance of a coffee round here?” Guy’s voice interrupts us and he comes in, wearing a pair of expensive shades. He takes them off and grins at me. “Maybe you could rustle up some scones?”
“Ha ha,” I say politely.
“Hilary, there’s some trouble outside.” Guy turns to her. “Some TV guy kicking up a fuss.”
“Damn.” Hilary looks at me. “Can I leave you for a moment, Samantha?”
“Absolutely!” I try not to sound too eager. “I’ll be fine!”
As she leaves I breathe a sigh of relief.
“So.” Guy raises his eyebrows. “How are you? Excited?”
“Of course!” I smile.
Actually I feel a little surreal, wearing a black suit again, surrounded by Carter Spink PR people. I haven’t seen Trish or Eddie for hours. Hilary Grant has totally commandeered the house.
“You made the right decision, you know,” says Guy.
“I know.” I brush a fleck of lint off my skirt.
“You look sensational. You’re going to blow them away.” He perches on a sofa arm opposite me and sighs. “Jesus, I missed you, Samantha. It hasn’t been the same.”
Does he have any sense of irony? Or did they fix that at Harvard too?
“So now you’re my best friend again.” I can’t help a slight edge. “Funny, that.”
Guy blinks at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come on, Guy.” I almost want to laugh. “You didn’t want to know me when I was in trouble. Now suddenly we’re chums again?”
“That’s unfair,” retorts Guy hotly. “I did everything I could for you, Samantha. I fought for you in that meeting. It was Arnold who refused to have you back. At the time we had no idea why—”
“You wouldn’t let me in your house, though, would you? Friendship wouldn’t quite extend that far.”
“I’m really grateful for everything,” I gulp. “And I’m sorry for leaving you in the lurch.”
“We know you’ve made the right decision. It’s not that.” Trish dabs her eyes.
“We’re very proud of you,” chips in Eddie gruffly as the doorbell rings.
I head into the hall, and open the door. The entire PR team from Carter Spink is standing on the doorstep, all in identical trouser suits.
“Samantha.” Hilary Grant, head of PR, runs her eyes over me. “Ready?”
By twelve o’clock I’m wearing a black suit, black tights, black high heels, and the crispest white shirt I’ve ever seen. I’ve been professionally made up and my hair has been scraped back into a bun.
Hilary brought the clothes and the hairdresser and makeup artist. Now we’re in the drawing room while she preps me on what to say to the press. For the thousand millionth time.
“What’s the most important thing to remember?” she’s demanding. “Above anything?”
“Not to mention loos,” I say wearily. “I promise, I won’t.”
“And if they ask about recipes?” She wheels round from where she’s been striding up and down.
“I answer, ‘I’m a lawyer. My only recipe is the recipe for success.’ ” Somehow I manage to utter the words straight-faced.
I’d forgotten how seriously the PR department takes all of this. But I suppose it’s their job. And I suppose this whole business has been a bit of a nightmare for them. Hilary has been outwardly pleasant ever since she got here—but I get the feeling there’s a little wax doll of me on her desk, impaled by drawing pins.
“We just want to make sure you don’t say anything else … unfortunate.” She gives me a slightly savage smile.
“I won’t! I’ll stick to the script.”
“And then the News Today team will follow you back to London.” She consults her BlackBerry. “We’ve given them access for the rest of the day. You’re OK about that?”
“Well … yes. I suppose.”
I cannot believe how big this whole thing has become. A news discussion program actually wants to do a fly-on-the-wall TV documentary section about my return to Carter Spink. Is there nothing else happening in the world?
“Don’t look at the camera.” Hilary is still briskly issuing instructions. “You should be good-humored and positive. You can talk about the career opportunities Carter Spink has given you and how much you’re looking forward to getting back. Don’t mention your salary—”
“Any chance of a coffee round here?” Guy’s voice interrupts us and he comes in, wearing a pair of expensive shades. He takes them off and grins at me. “Maybe you could rustle up some scones?”
“Ha ha,” I say politely.
“Hilary, there’s some trouble outside.” Guy turns to her. “Some TV guy kicking up a fuss.”
“Damn.” Hilary looks at me. “Can I leave you for a moment, Samantha?”
“Absolutely!” I try not to sound too eager. “I’ll be fine!”
As she leaves I breathe a sigh of relief.
“So.” Guy raises his eyebrows. “How are you? Excited?”
“Of course!” I smile.
Actually I feel a little surreal, wearing a black suit again, surrounded by Carter Spink PR people. I haven’t seen Trish or Eddie for hours. Hilary Grant has totally commandeered the house.
“You made the right decision, you know,” says Guy.
“I know.” I brush a fleck of lint off my skirt.
“You look sensational. You’re going to blow them away.” He perches on a sofa arm opposite me and sighs. “Jesus, I missed you, Samantha. It hasn’t been the same.”
Does he have any sense of irony? Or did they fix that at Harvard too?
“So now you’re my best friend again.” I can’t help a slight edge. “Funny, that.”
Guy blinks at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come on, Guy.” I almost want to laugh. “You didn’t want to know me when I was in trouble. Now suddenly we’re chums again?”
“That’s unfair,” retorts Guy hotly. “I did everything I could for you, Samantha. I fought for you in that meeting. It was Arnold who refused to have you back. At the time we had no idea why—”
“You wouldn’t let me in your house, though, would you? Friendship wouldn’t quite extend that far.”
